


Nine Tenths of the Law

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words are hard to keep when there is no one there to share them with you, but some words are too powerful to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Tenths of the Law

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday fic for Bad_Faery. I did intend there would be smut, but the characters were being uncooperative.

Once upon a time there was a girl.

She didn’t consider herself of much importance. Daughter of a Lord, only child, would-be heir. She would have had a simple and quiet life, had it not been for the ogres. That was when simple and quiet became complicated.

The girl, definitely no Princess, made a deal to save her lands, her own life forfeit to the whims of a trickster. With time, she came to know the trickster for the man he was beneath magic and dragonhide, and knowledge brought affection with it.

In a world of ogres and magic, a girl who only had her bravery to hold onto had little chance of happiness. 

The imp, the man, cast her out in fear, when True Love raised its head. She should have returned at once to her father, but another found her first, another she came to know as an enemy. The woman called herself a Queen, and she intended to ruin the girl’s imp.

The girl, Belle, could do nothing.

She was closed away in a cell in the dark. The only strip of light crept beneath the door, and she saw no one, spoke to no one, none but the Queen, who mocked and derided her for loving a monster who would just as soon kill her as kiss her.

Belle knew the Queen was angry that Rumpelstiltskin, her imp, had someone who loved him, though she couldn’t understand why. Though the Queen was her only company, Belle shunned her, choosing instead to gaze in silence at the walls until the dark-eyed, dark-hearted, dark-souled woman grew bored and left her.

Sooner rather than later, the Queen stopped coming.

Belle knew it was because she did not break. It was to make her weep. To make her helpless. But she was brave and she would not break.

Each night and each day, she would whisper to herself over and over: “I will find him. I will protect him. I will love him, because he’s mine”. It became her prayer when the Gods stopped listening, and over and over, she would whisper into the darkness. She would walk the walls to keep up her strength, she would trace her fingers on the stone, and she would whisper over and over and over.

With time, her voice became hoarser and the words simpler: Find. Protect. Love. Mine.

The walls were a cage and she paced.

The world turned, the reality all swept away, but even when there was a window, and there was light, and the walls were softer than chill stone, the words still rattled around her head like a pea in a drum: Find. Love. Protect. Mine.

Who, she didn’t know. She didn’t remember, but she remembered the words. The words were important.

The cage stayed a cage, brighter, warmer, softer. Faces looked in the door and food was placed before her. She would crouch over it, eat, watch, wait. Find. Love. Protect. Mine.

No one spoke to her, and she only had the words to cling onto. They had no meaning, but they were her words. They were important. She had to hold onto them. One for each wall of the cell. She walked the walls, round and round and round, whispered and prayed those four words over and over.

Every day was the same until the day that wasn’t.

The door opened, not just for food, and Belle coiled in the corner, wide-eyed and wary. A man. Tall. Dark. Stranger. In white. Not black. People in black meant bad. She remembered that, but didn’t know why.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand.

The door was open. If she ran, she could be out soon, but he was in the way and he was big.

She edged closer, nudged his hand with her own, and he was leaning over her, tall and growling. The words. The words were there: “you have to find Mr Gold. He’ll protect you.”

Find.

Protect.

Belle stared at him and nodded.

Find and Protect.

He took her out of the prison, out of the dull and quiet, into a world of bright and air and colour. Belle hissed through her teeth, shielding her eyes with her arm. A big world, full of smells and colours and flavours. Too much all at once.

The stranger pushed her towards a road. “Find him,” he whispered.

Find. Find. Find.

She stumbled into the big wide world. Not afraid. Nothing to fear in a world of bright and colour and freedom. Find. Find Gold. Gold. New word but familiar. Gold gold gold. She could remember gold, fine as thread, whirling through fingers quick and deft.

Find Gold.

Find Gold.

Protect.

The rest would come.

Her feet hurt walking on a hard road, even through her shoes, and when she crossed paths with strangers, she shied from them, growling quietly. Not gold. Not Gold. She muttered his name and fingers were pointed.

Find. She had to find.

She was guided to a building by suspicious hands. Small building. Not a cell. Glass in window and in door. Dusty and old and familiar but strange. A bell rang and she hissed, creeping on light feet into the darkness. There was sound, and breathing, and she pushed through heavy fabric drapes to see a man.

“Gold.” Her voice scratched her throat.

The man turned. Just a small. Thin and small and dark-eyed. He stared at her, but not as her keeper stared. She could see fear and shock and he stumbled to her, reaching out, touching. It was a kind touch. Gentle.

“Find Gold,” she whispered hoarsely. “Protect.”

His eyes were wet and his face creased up like folded paper. “Yes,” he whispered, and his arms were around her. “I’ll protect you.” 

Belle stared over his shoulder. Protect her? No, no. Protect him. She nuzzled at his shoulder, at his neck. The scent of him filled her senses, so familiar, but so unfamiliar. She did not know him, not his eyes, not his sad, crumpled face, not any of it, but she knew, knew, knew that he was the one the words were for.

Find. Protect. Love. Mine.

“Mine,” she breathed and he gave a small, pained sound, like a wounded child. She crooned softly, nuzzled at his jaw, at his throat, as much as she could, and twined her arms around him, holding him.

“Belle,” he whispered. “Oh Gods, Belle.”

She nipped at his throat with her teeth in wordless acknowledgement. He knew he was important. He knew he had to be protected. She dragged her tongue over the bite, soothing it gently. “Find,” she whispered against his skin. “Protect. Love.” She lifted her head to look up at him. “Mine.”

His face was wet and she rose on her toes, brushed her mouth over the tears. 

He put his arms around her again, holding her tight. “What did she do to you, dearie?” he whispered. “What did that witch do?” His hand stroked through her hair, his lips were close to her ear, and she shivered at the warmth of his breath. “I won’t let her harm you again, dearie. You’re mine.”

Belle’s fingers curled into his back, holding him. Mine. Mine too.

He lifted her face to his in one hand. “There’s something we must do,” he said, gazing at her, his eyes dark and wet and deep. “Will you come with me?”

She raised her hand to wrap it around his. “Mine. Found. Mine.”

His face was crumpling again, sad and happy and angry and hope. “Come with me,” he said, and took her hand in his. It was warm, his palm was damp, and she could feel thrum, thrum, thrum of his frightened and happy and angry heart.

They walked together, and she kept watch for fear of enemies in black waiting to sweep in and carry him away. He would not be taken from her, not now that he was found. 

He was watching her, not elsewhere. His eyes were on her so much she knew he would not see an enemy until it was too late. He needed to be protected. He didn’t know how dangerous people could be.

Only when they were in the shelter of the woods, hidden among trees and shadows, did she let herself look at him, look at his eyes and crumpled face and see that Find, Protect, Love, Mine in his eyes too.

“Where were you?” he asked. “Do you know?”

Belle stared at him. She remembered other words, somewhere, somewhere in the back of her mind. “Dark,” she whispered, as he led her along overgrown paths, leaves and bushes catching on her skirts. “Dark. Cold.”

“I’ll tear her to pieces,” he promised. “I’ll protect you.”

She lifted their joined hands and nuzzled his fingers, rubbing cheek against the back of his hand. Poor creature didn’t know, didn’t know it was her place to protect him. She didn’t need protection, but he did. It was all because he needed to be safe. Her words were lost because he needed to be safe.

The day was brightening and she cooed softly, lifting her head to the sky as the sun crested over the horizon. The room with its windows had allowed a little light in, but she felt the warm touch on her face and his hand in her hand and she knew she was where she was meant to be.

“This way, dearie,” he said softly, gently drawing her on. “We must be quick.”

There was a strange little building ahead, and her mind supplied a word she couldn’t understand: well. She could think of associations, of water, of a place she couldn’t quite remember on the edge of her mind.

“Here?” she asked after searching her mind for the right word.

“Here,” he said, releasing her hand. She whimpered softly at the loss of contact, edging closer to him. Found. Couldn’t lose. He looked at her, all crumple-faced again, and he lifted his hand to touch her cheek. “Only for a moment, dearie, then I’m all yours.”

Her lips drew back from her teeth in pleasure. Hers. 

She followed him, then stumbled. Words, words, words filled her head up. Words forgotten. Faces forgotten. Places forgotten. All filling in spaces that were there. More than just four words. His face. His place. His name.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she breathed.

He stopped. Scared. Other words came back now. Go. Coward. He turned, looked, and she knew he lied then. Lied to keep himself safe. Scared. 

She walked towards him. Find, she remembered. Find. Protect. Love. Mine. He was crumpled again, still scared, but he was hers. All hers. She touched his face, fingers tracing all, nose, lips, eyelids, lashes, brows.

“Mine?” she whispered. 

“Yours,” he agreed hoarsely. “I love you.”

She remembered a kiss. Love. Love was good. Love was nice. But love wasn’t enough. Not now. And there could be no kiss. Kiss made things bad last time, but there was closeness and he let her lean close and press her lips to his throat. No kiss. But hers.

She parted her lips and gently bit and left her mark on his throat and heard him breath out a small, wanting sound, his hand in her hair, holding her close.

“Mine,” she whispered and remembered another word, an important, powerful word. “Forever.”

His face was wet again when he tilted hers to look up at him. “Forever,” he promised.


End file.
